


an object in motion stays in motion

by HamstersAndLunchboxes



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, but bechloe will rise, but like so incredibly slightly it changes like NOTHING canon, it had to be done, my PP3 coda, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 09:28:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13924263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamstersAndLunchboxes/pseuds/HamstersAndLunchboxes
Summary: Newton's First Law of Motion states that an object in motion stays in motion.I.e., Beca's still falling for Chloe even though they haven't talked in over a year, and she doesn't know how to stop.(Who knew physics would apply to emotions too?)





	an object in motion stays in motion

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have several other things I should be working on, don't @ me. I just write whatever comes to mind to keep the creativity flowing. Also I changed my pseud since I don't really write OCs anymore (clearly). I just really like hamsters and my hamster's name is Lunchbox, hence my new title. Whatever.
> 
> As a sidenote, this is very slightly AU because I'm choosing to ignore the whole 'Esther' reveal for Lilly. Her comments are too much fun to write to toss to the side. 
> 
> Beta'd by me, all mistakes are mine!
> 
> The characters, however, are not. If they were, we'd have Bechloe...(i'm still bitter.)

Beca’s nearly asleep when she gets the phone call. Her cell, blaring Emily’s demo of “Flashlight”, is far away, far enough that Beca can’t reach it, on the other side of her office. She wants to shut off the noise and just lay in the quiet, she really does. But her phone’s far away and she thinks if she tries to move, she might pass out from physical exertion.

She’d been working in the studio all day, producing the shit out of a track that one of her new artists had showed her. The kid was young and talented, but he really had no idea how make a song sound better than it really was. She supposed that was why he’d come to her, as opposed to anyone else. The song was better now, though. She’d added layers and background vocals and downbeats and it sounded  _ almost _ like a good enough song to land a spot in the Top 40. Almost. It was still missing something though.

_ A competent lead vocalist _ , says her brain.

Fuck off, she tells it.

Beca loves producing, she really does. She loves it with all her heart. That’s why after her year long contract with DJ Khaled ended, she looked for a job at a recording label instead of pursuing another year of recording and performing. She loves performing too, but she loves performing with the  _ Bellas _ . Performing alone isn’t quite the same. She didn’t really expect it to be either. 

So she pulls some strings, and Sammy, her boss back in Atlanta, drills home a favor. The Residual Heat branch in LA hires her as a producer. Not an intern, not a junior producer. A real, honest-to-goodness producer. She’s her own boss, she has her own interns, she makes her own schedule. It’s nothing like the junior job she’d taken in New York four-something years ago, thank  _ god _ . Beca’s the captain of her own ship and it feels  _ good _ . 

Sure, it’s also stressful as hell, and the musicians are still as stuck up and tacky as she remembers them being, but it’s nothing she can’t handle. Most of them are competent enough to realize that the changes she makes to their songs makes their music better. And that’s why they stay, she supposes. Because she’s good at her job and they know it. She just wishes all of her artists were as easy to work with as Emily. Speaking of, Beca should really listen to the dry run of one of her newest songs… 

Somewhere, in the quiet, “Flashlight” starts playing again.

It’s the second time her phone has rang in the past two minutes, so Beca knows it’s important. She knows she should probably answer. But she just sighs and lets Emily’s vocals wash over her. Sure, she works with the college graduate daily as her producer, but she hadn’t seen her in a week or so. She hadn’t seen the other Bellas in much longer. Not since the USO tour. Emily had invited them all to her graduation and her party, and Beca knew the rest of the Bellas were there. She’d seen the photos, felt the familiar guilty pang in her chest for not being able to attend because she’d been on tour with Khaled at the time. And it sucked. But the contract ended and Emily signed a label with Residual Heat with Beca as her producer and two made  _ magic _ in the booth. (She still misses the other girls, though.)

Before Beca can do anything, her phone goes silent, Emily’s voice disappearing without warning. But it isn’t for long, because within ten seconds, “Flashlight” is starting up again. 

“Okay, okay, Christ,” Beca grumbles. She slides off of her chair and mopes her way over to her desk. Her phone is upwards. Fat Amy’s face lights up her screen. Amy’s the only Bella Beca’s really kept in constant contact with, other than her weekly Skype session with Stacie. She talks to Aubrey maybe once a month or so, because despite their rocky start, the two formed a mutual understanding from captaining the Bellas and dealing with their shit. Beca knows what the rest are doing with their lives and where they’re at due to social media and whatnot, but they sort of…dropped off of Beca’s grid.  And yeah, Chloe’s included in that. Between veterinary school and dating Chicago ( _ ew _ ), she’s busy…well, all the time. And, Beca thinks, that’s what sucks most of all, the loss that stings the most. Because it’s been over a year since she really talked to Chloe. It’s been over a year since Beca realized what she’d let go.

They had tried to stay in touch, at first. After all, Chloe was at UC Davis. It  _ was _ six hours from LA, but they were in the same state, and that was enough, right? It had to be. Two weeks after the morale tour, Beca surprised Chloe with a visit for the week. She’d fought with Theo, pushed back the recording dates of the new single her and Khaled were working on, and pissed off  _ many _ of her higher-ups. And then she’d packed up and driven six hours, nonstop, to see Chloe.

It had been worth it, then. The way Chloe’s lips curved into an impossibly wide smile when she saw Beca trudging towards her on the quad. The way she shot up and wrapped her arms around the small brunette, squeezing so tightly that Beca was afraid her lungs would collapse. The way her breath washed over the shell of Beca’s ear when she whispered, “ _ How are you here right now? _ ” in an absurdly soft tone of voice that Beca could barely hear, but it had her eardrums ringing nonetheless. It had been worth it.

But two days later, Chicago showed up. Two days later, he’d been put on temporary leave from his post in Italy, and  _ oh _ , they’re still dating, and  _ oh _ , _ oh wow, the walls at these UC Davis apartments are really _ , really _ fucking thin. _

Beca had never felt like she’d ever been thirdwheeling with Chloe.  _ Never _ . Even when she went out with Chloe and Tom. Chloe had always sat by her, Chloe had played with her fingers, Chloe had laughed at her jokes, Chloe’s eyes had lit up when she smiled. And when Beca had been with Jesse, it’d been the same thing. No matter who was hanging out with Beca and Chloe,  _ they _ would be the ones thirdwheeling. Not either of them.

And then Beca learned what it was like, what it would have been like to hang without them, so many years ago. Because Chloe was absolutely taken with the soldier, and she sat by  _ him _ , she laughed at  _ his _ jokes, and played with  _ his _ fingers, and her eyes lit up when  _ he _ smiled. She was more subdued around Beca. She didn’t hug her as often, didn’t cuddle her as often, and she was holding back something fierce. And it was  _ weird _ . It felt weird and unnatural and impersonal and three days after Chicago showed up, Beca finally identified the uncomfortable buzzing in her chest when he was around.  _ Jealousy _ . 

Here’s the thing. Beca doesn’t  _ do _ unrequited love. Doesn’t. Didn’t. Whatever. She doesn’t do unanswered crushes and pining and pathetic moping. Lusting after someone you can’t have sets women back to like, the nineties, and if anyone was going to do the independent thing and be perfectly okay with it, it was Beca Mitchell. 

But Jesse came along. Jesse had been easy. He was attractive and ridiculous and sweet. He was smooth where Beca had been rough. He softened her out. She had liked him, and he’d liked her, and it was easy. It’d made sense. Their time together had made sense, and the breakup even made sense. Jesse was just more invested than Beca was, and they both saw that. Beca loved Jesse, she did, but she wasn’t  _ in _ love with Jesse. When they’d decide to break up, she’d told him this, and Jesse asked how she knew what being in love felt like if she’d never been in it before. 

She hadn’t known how to answer him.

Then, a two years later, sitting on Chloe’s couch at UC Davis, watching her and Chicago whisper and feed each other popcorn, she finally knew.

Being in love was uninvited shower singing, and yellow cups, and Jiggle Juice. It was red hair, and disregard of personal space, and lady jams. It was an awful retreat to the Lodge of Fallen Leaves, and winning the World Championship of Acapella, and really awkwardly long, uncomfortably worded toasts. And Beca called Jesse late that night, from the elevator in Chloe’s building, and told him. For the first time in a long time, Beca cried, because  _ of course _ it was Chloe who made Beca  _ not _ want to do the independent thing. Chloe made Beca want to be grossly domestic, and she hated it because Chloe was with Chicago and she was happy.

She left the next morning, leaving Chloe with some half-assed excuse that Theo and DJ Khaled  _ needed _ her back early. (They didn’t.)

Chicago and Chloe insisted on driving her to the airport. Beca tried not to think about how Chloe’s hug wasn’t nearly as tight or last nearly as long as it used to, or how her eyes sparkled when Chicago urged her into a hug of his own. 

She’d spent the entire flight back listening to Spotify’s “Broken Heart” playlist, even if she hated all the music on it.

After the trip, Beca threw herself into her work. It was the only thing she could do to keep her mind off of the redhead and off of her realization. They still texted daily, but it was (ew, gross) small talk. Beca and Chloe didn’t do small talk. They never had, not even the first time they’d actually hung out as friends. It was undeniably different. 

Slowly, daily texts became goodnights and good mornings, and then they texted once a week, maybe, and then not at all. Chloe Beale became nothing but a memory for Beca Mitchell. Nothing had ever hurt Beca more.

Seven years of constantly being in someone’s presence spurred routine. It spurred Beca being used to having Chloe; Chloe was Beca’s person. Having that person just  _ gone _ one day…it was jarring, like a car crash. One second, Beca had Chloe and everything in the world seemed right. Not a moment later, Chloe was gone and Beca was empty and  _ nothing _ was okay anymore. 

Jesse visited the day after Beca got back from UC Davis. She hadn’t asked him to, and she certainly hadn’t expected him to. He lived across the country, in Atlanta, working for a scoring company or something with his girlfriend and their cat, and he still is. But Jesse was there and they watched stupid movies and Beca listened to Jesse’s stupid commentary and put up with his stupid jokes. In reality though, none of it was stupid, and Beca hadn’t realized how much she missed Jesse. Not romantically in the slightest, but she missed her best guy friend. She missed her  _ best friend _ because Chloe had always been more than that, but now she was less, and it didn’t make sense. Nothing’s okay anymore.

Jesse had spent the week trying to cheer up Beca. He even went to work with her and recorded some takes with her on one of her tracks. Theo had even liked it so much that he kept it, and now one of Beca’s hit singles featured Jesse Swanson, one hit wonder. Having Jesse around didn’t lessen the pain of Chloe’s loss, not in the slightest, but he still made the time pass faster. Unfortunately, he goes in a week, but he promised to keep in touch.

Unlike Chloe and Beca’s promise to stay contacted, Jesse actually followed through. They texted everyday. They still do.

It doesn’t help.

Beca doesn’t know how long she’d been falling for Chloe, or why it takes her so long to realize it. She doesn’t know why she only learned when it was too late. She doesn’t know if she’ll ever  _ stop _ falling for Chloe, even when they haven’t talked in over a year, because an object in motion stays in motion, but Beca  _ really _ hopes Newton was wrong on that one because she doesn’t want to be falling for Chloe Beale the rest of her life. She wants to move on in the worst way, but she doesn’t know how.

Jesse suggests dating other people, and Amy proposes a trip to Cabo, and Stacie tells her she knows several people in the LA area that are STD-free and down for a hook-up. All of those are valid options, Beca knows that, but she can’t bring herself to even start looking at others romantically. Not yet, anyway.

(“Not yet? Becs, it’s been over a year.”

“I know how long it’s been, Jesse.”

“You need to at least try–”

Beca hangs up before he can finish his sentence because she can already feels the tears welling up.)

So Beca stands over her desk, her fingers twitching hesitantly. Amy’s face is blown up to a ridiculous size on her phone in a really gross attempt at a selfie. Red hair and jolting blue eyes are in the background of the picture, but Beca ignores that. (She tries, she really does.) 

She doesn’t know why she hesitates, really. Amy calls Beca all the time. This isn’t a rare occurrence at all. But something  _ feels _ off.

Beca ignores it though, because it’s nearly 11pm, and she’s been working all day. Amy’s still in New York, in her penthouse suite (courtesy of hundred and eighty million dollar jackpot from her mother), so she’s three hours behind Beca; late night phone calls are normal. Beca just chalks up the weird feeling in her stomach to not eating much for dinner (read: black coffee and four slices of buttered toast) and being obscenely hungry. She thumbs her phone open and holds it up to her ear.

“What up, Ames?” she asks, and she expects some loud noises in the background, and Amy screaming, and maybe even a yell from Stacie, who lives in New York also, or Bumper, because even though they broke up, Beca  _ knows _ that he’s the ‘sexy piece of mancandy’ that Amy hooks up with when she’s drunk on weekends.

Instead, the other line is quiet, almost painfully so. And  _ Amy _ is quiet when she speaks, so the discomfort in Beca’s gut multiplies tenfold.

“Have you seen it yet?” she asks.

Beca frowns. “Seen what?”

“Have you checked your mail?”

“My mail? I’ve been stuck in the studio since seven this morning, Ames. What’s going on?”

That’s when Beca hears it. Whispering in the background. Familiar whispering. She’s pretty sure she catches not only Stacie’s voice, but also Aubrey’s and Emily’s, and woah, hang on. Aubrey’s supposed to be in kicking ass in the Atlanta courtroom as a prosecutor, and Emily’s supposed to be with Beca, in LA, working on her newest single. Beca was certain she did  _ not _ grant the younger brunette work leave.

“Amy? Amy, is that Aubrey and Emily? And Stacie?”

There’s a rustling on the other end and not-so-subtle shushing. “No, no it’s not them. They’re my two friends from work…Bree-ay and Milly-ey and…and Tacie-say. ”

“Those are just their names in Pig Latin! And you don’t even work!”

“You don’t know me!” Amy shoots back. The line goes quiet.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Beca says. She’s begging, she knows, but she’s really tired and she doesn’t want to play this game right now. She wants to eat and sleep and repeat the producing process tomorrow, except with Emily’s new song–and then she remembers that she can’t because Emily is New York right now with Amy and Aubrey and Stacie and she  _ still  _ doesn’t know what’s happening.

“I think it’s better if you just call back after you get your mail,” says the Tasmanian.

“Please tell me you didn’t mail me a postcard with a naked stripper on the front again.”

“You’ll know when you see it,” and the line goes dead.

Beca stares at her phone screen as it goes dark. The lock screen is a photo of all the Bellas after she’d performed Freedom ‘90 on the USO tour. She ignores the way her and Chloe are holding each other like nothing else matters. The only reason it’s still her wallpaper is because it has  _ all _ the Bellas and it reminds her of a happier time, when she was constantly surrounded by people she loved and people who loved her right back.

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

That, however, couldn’t be said for her home screen, which was one of Beca, with her mouth pressed in a thin line, fighting back a smirk, and Chloe draped over her back, a wide smile lighting up her entire face.  It’s the first picture of her and Chloe ever taken, at Beca’s first Hood Night. 

She huffs in the quiet of her office. This was going to be a longer night than she anticipated.

 

xXx

 

Amy was right. She knows it when she sees it.

The pink envelope is startling against the whites of bills and junkmail.

Beca’s name and address is stenciled in loopy handwriting that Beca knows painfully well. There’s no return address, but it doesn’t need it, because that’s Chloe’s handwriting. Beca’s heart thuds roughly in her chest. She can hear her own heartbeat, she thinks. Beca can barely breathe when she opens the letter.

The front of the card has a photograph on it. It’s professionally taken, somewhere on the California coastline, it looks like. Chicago’s dark hair is a little longer and windswept, and Chloe’s hair is curled like a princess’s, as per usual. He’s holding up her by her hips, her hands braced on his shoulders. She’s looking down at him, and they’re both laughing and smiling. They look so incredibly in love. Beca gags so much that she actually rushes to the trash can in her kitchen and throws up whatever’s left from her lackluster dinner. 

The twisting in her stomach doesn’t stop though, and Beca’s not sure it ever will, because the preamble on the picture reads ‘Come Celebrate With Us!’ and Beca can only guess that she will certainly  _ not _ be celebrating whatever they are. 

Beca spits in her sink. After washing her mouth out with the tap water, she warily makes her way back to the dining room, where she’d dropped the card. It had landed picture side down. The words on the back make Beca want to vomit again, but her stomach is empty and she ends up dry heaving into the trash can once more.

_ They’re getting married. Chloe and Chicago are getting married. _ There’s a date, and a time, and they want her to be a bridesmaid, and the RSVP number is Aubrey’s, and  _ oh my god, how long had she known _ ?

Beca stumbles to her living room and collapses on her couch, almost missing and landing on the floor. Her fingers shake as she pulls her Macbook from her carrying case and FaceTimes Amy.

“How long?” she croaks when Amy’s face shows up on the other side of the screen. Aubrey’s there too, beside Amy. Stacie and Emily are nowhere to be seen.

Aubrey’s voice is tentative, soft. Like she’s trying not to startle a scared animal that she has backed into a corner. “She called last week and asked me to be the Maid of Honor. She wants all the Bellas as bridesmaids.”

“I’m not coming.”

“Beca–”

“I  _ can’t _ , Aubrey.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t make me say it.” Beca’s voice is hoarse. She feels weak. Physically and mentally weak. Amy had slipped out of frame. Beca doesn’t know when it happened, but it’s just her and Aubrey now, and somehow, that’s more comforting. She loves Amy, but she’s  _ hurting _ , and Aubrey knows that better than anyone. Better than anyone, except maybe the way Chloe used to know.

“Beca. She misses you, you know.”

“How can you say that?”

Aubrey seems momentarily caught off guard by the malice in Beca’s words. They’re quiet and weak, but the venom and the spite are palpable. “What do you mean?”

“She’s…she’s marrying  _ him _ . We haven’t talked in over a year, Aubrey, because she’s always with him. She’s too busy for us. She doesn’t  _ need _ us. She has  _ Chicago _ .” His name leaves a bitter taste in Beca’s mouth. She wants to spit again.

Beca expects Aubrey to fight her. She expects Aubrey to hurl insults, and yell at Beca, and tell her to never insult her best friend ever again. What she doesn’t expect is for Aubrey to end the call. 

Just like that, Beca is left by herself, with her destructive thoughts and a fridge full of beer that has never looked so enticing. Beca gets drunk that night to forget. And the night after that. And the night after that. On that first night, Beca had RSVP’d ‘regrets’ and mailed the letter back to Davis.

What she doesn’t expect is for Aubrey to show up on her doorstep on the fourth morning.

Beca is an absolute disaster, and Aubrey doesn’t look surprised at all. In those three days, Beca has managed to trash her entire apartment. She hasn’t showered since…well, she’s not really sure when. Her hangover is the worst it’s ever been. She’s been wearing the same hoodie (Chloe’s green Barden hoodie that she’d stolen in her sophomore year) for three days. She also hasn’t put on pants in three days. Her phone has missed calls from Amy, and Emily, and Stacie, and Aubrey. There’s even one from one of the other producers at Residual Heat, asking when she’ll be in next. (She doesn’t know. Beca’s the boss of herself now, so doesn’t really have responsibilities unless she wants to. It’s a blessing and a curse.) 

Aubrey, to her credit, only raises an eyebrow when she takes in Beca’s disheveled state (read: her hair in a greasy, messy bun, wearing nothing but boy shorts and Chloe’s sweatshirt). “You’re a trainwreck,” she deadpans.

Beca lets the door swing shut in Aubrey’s face as a response.

“Beca! Beca Mitchell, open this goddamn door right now!”

And Beca  _ really _ doesn’t want to. But Aubrey’s banging on the door, and the sound is literally reverberating in her head and crushing her brain. 

“ _ What _ , Posen?” Beca snarls as she wrenches the door open again. “Why are you even here? I already sent back regrets. I’m not going.”

“Oh, you’re going.” Aubrey shoulders past Beca, and okay,  _ ouch _ , it kinda hurts. She’s toting an overnight bag and a carry-on, and both smack Beca on Aubrey’s way in. “You’re going to stop moping and you’re going to your best friend’s wedding.”

“Jesse’s my best friend,” says Beca automatically.

“Jesse’s your best guy friend,” Aubrey corrects as she spins around, giving the dirty apartment a once over. She grimaces slightly as she notices the pile of used tissues piled up on the couch and littering the living room floor.

Beca lets the door shut. If she knows Aubrey at all (and she does), this conversation won’t be over shortly.

“This is one hell of an apartment you have here, Mitchell. You know, sans the fine layer of filth you’ve managed to cover it with in three days.”

“Don’t change the subject, Aubrey. Jesse’s my best friend,” Beca insists. She ambles over to her island counter and collapses on one of the stools. One of her beers from the night before is left over. After a sniff and determining it’s okay, Beca takes a swig. It’s lukewarm, but she can’t find it in herself to care.

Aubrey watches this exchange and closes her eyes, exhaling. “Dear lord,” she breathes out.

“Why are you here, Posen?” Beca asks again.

“Because Chloe wants you there.”

“Chloe doesn’t care about me.”

“How can you say that?”

“How can you suggest that she does?” Beca shoots back, eyebrows raised. “Chloe stopped caring once Chicago got transferred to the states. We stopped talking, things got impersonal and awkward and…and…she stopped caring. I lost her.” Beca’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I love her, Bree, and I lost her.”

“Rebeca Anne Mitchell,” Aubrey hisses, and Beca flinches at the use of her middle name. She expected pity, but this  _ was _ Aubrey, and honestly, Beca should have been ready for this adverse reaction to her confession. “Chloe tried to get you to see what was right in front of you for  _ years _ . I watched her pine after you for a year, Mitchell, only to wind up with Jesse in the end, and become a part of the ‘guy gets the girl’ cliche that you hate so much. While  _ you _ were off celebrating with him,  _ I _ was in the apartment with Chloe until 4am while she cried–no,  _ sobbed _ , and asked me why she wasn’t good enough. What Jesse had that she didn’t. And I didn’t know what to tell her, Beca. I didn’t know what to tell her because it wasn’t because Jesse had a dick, I know that. You wear way too much flannel to be completely straight–” Beca blanches at that. Aubrey’s words just get shriller until she’s yelling.

“–and I was at a complete loss! You know, Mitchell, Chloe and I talked about our graduation before she saw you at the activities fair. She was ready. And then, nine months later, she wasn’t and she failed Russian Lit.  _ On purpose.  _ Chloe was ready to move on from the Bellas and Barden, even though she didn’t necessarily want to, but Beca, but she wasn’t ready to move on from  _ you _ .

“I tried to make her see reason. It didn’t matter that you were dating Jesse, because Chloe  _ insisted _ it was different for you guys. She insisted that you’d realize, eventually. And I supported her because I knew how much you meant to her.” 

The use past tense is like a sucker punch to Beca’s stomach and her tear ducts are filling without her consent.

“But four years passed and you were  _ still _ with Jesse and Chloe was losing hope. And then you and her and Amy moved to New York, and you and Jesse broke up, and  _ god _ , I’ve never seen Chloe more excited. She thought that  _ maybe _ , just  _ maybe _ , you’d pull you head out of your ass and see the light. I thought so too, actually.” Aubrey’s laugh is toneless, and Beca’s crying.

“But no. No, you were wrapped up in your job and focused on everything  _ but _ Chloe. So she gave up. She gave up, Beca, because she was being  _ so _ obvious and you couldn’t see it. Everyone saw it. The Bellas, the Trebles, Jesse.  _ Bumper _ saw it, Beca. But she finally decided that you’d never see her as anything more than a friend, so she  _ moved on _ . Chicago was there for her when you weren’t. Chicago recognized what you didn’t.”

Aubrey was in Beca’s space now, pushing a finger against her chest. “So don’t you  _ dare _ tell me that Chloe doesn’t care about you, when I’ve watched her cry over you for seven years. Don’t you  _ dare _ try to pin this on Chloe when  _ you’re _ the one realizing what you want too late. She misses you and she wants you there, Becs.”

“But as a friend, right?” The words escape Beca’s lips without warning, and her voice breaks on the word  _ friend _ . She’s gasping for air through tears, and hugging herself tightly. She registers how small she must look, curled up into herself. No matter how tiny Beca was, she’d always tried to carry herself like she was larger than life. Now, she must look like a mouse.

Aubrey purses her lips. The space between her eyebrows is creased and it’s Aubrey’s thinking face. She pulls out her phone and glances at the screen before shoving it back into her jeans pocket. She’s choosing her words carefully, Beca can tell. “Chloe’s…happy,” she says slowly. “But she’s been happier.”

Beca’s eyes narrow, and Aubrey’s figure slightly focuses through her tears. “What do you mean?”

The blonde sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, Beca. You made my best friend absolutely miserable for seven years.” She sets her jaw. “But…you also made her the happiest I’ve ever seen her. Seriously, it was gross.”

Despite the circumstances, Beca snorts.

“Her and Chicago are happy. But she could…be…happier.” Aubrey punctuates each word carefully, leveling a pointed look at Beca.

The weight behind her words click, and Beca stares at Aubrey because no way this was Aubrey’s idea. There’s no freaking way Aubrey Posen would be okay with crashing a wedding.

“You want me to get Chloe back.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I want you to show Chloe that you’ve pulled your head out of your ass and that you know what you want.”

“I thought I made Chloe miserable,” Beca points out, and she’s not really sure why she’s fighting Aubrey on this when it’s kind of exactly the push she needs. It’s probably because this is so insane that she  _ needs _ to make sure Aubrey’s one hundred percent certain that she’s onboard with this. 

“You did,” Aubrey says. “Trust me, trust the aca-gods, you did–”

“–Please don’t say ‘aca-gods’, you’re nearly thirty years old–”

“–but I have never seen Chloe talk about someone with so much…so much passion, and admiration, and  _ love _ . Seriously, Mitchell, she’d call me at like 2am and drone on and on about how brilliant you were with the set you were working on, and how your vocal chords were magical, and how she was so desperately in love with you. One night, she called and I had the stomach flu, and I ended up puking.”

But Beca’s heart is pounding and she barely hears Aubrey’s jab because  _ Chloe was in love in with her _ . Key word,  _ was _ , and Beca wants to do everything in power to change that.

“But doesn’t she love Chicago?” Beca finds herself asking, and  _ seriously _ , she wants to punch herself because can’t she just let herself have this?

Aubrey bites her lip and curls a piece of her hair back around her ear. “Chicago…Chicago is like vet school for Chloe. He’s like her UC Davis.”

“Oh well that’s great, Chloe fucking loves UC Davis, thanks Aubs,” Beca bites out, but Aubrey is glaring and Beca lets her continue.

“Chicago is like vet school for Chloe. And you’re absolutely right, Chloe  _ loves _ vet school, and the animals, and the experience. She’s so excited to graduate, Mitchell, seriously. She keeps talking about saving all these small animals and how she’s going to be a goddess to injured pets everywhere. Chicago is new and exciting for Chloe, and yeah, she’s going to love it– _ him _ –probably forever.”

“ _ Great _ .”

“– _ But _ ,” Aubrey silences Beca with another glare, “you’re like Barden.”

Beca wrinkles her nose. “Why can’t I be somewhere nice, like France or Cabo?”

“I seriously forgot how annoying you are.”

“It’s one of my many charms. Go on, Posen.”

“You’re like Barden, Mitchell. No matter how much Chloe loves UC Davis, her heart is  _ always _ going to belong to Barden. There was never a dull moment there. Chloe made her best friends and her best memories at Barden. Barden had the Bellas and her favorite professors and Hood Nights. Chloe thinks Barden is the best goddamn place in the world. And yeah, I told you she was ready to move on, but she didn’t  _ want _ to. She didn’t  _ want _ to move on from you, Beca, but waiting around for you was toxic, okay? She was constantly wondering why she wasn’t good enough and sitting on her ass,  _ waiting _ for you see, but you never did. It was starting to hurt her, Becs, and I couldn’t let that happen. I told her to take a chance with Chicago.”

“This is your fault?”

“Do you blame me?” Aubrey asks, one eyebrow raised in silent challenge. “If you knew how to make a hurting Chloe Beale stop, would you help, or just let her keep on damaging herself?”

Beca doesn’t answer because  _ no _ , she’d never let Chloe suffer, ever.

“I thought not. But things are different now. You see it, don’t you? You see that Chloe’s been in love with you all this time.”

“It was always her,” Beca whispers.

Aubrey nods. “You’re her Barden, Beca Mitchell. Chicago may be UC Davis, but you’re her Barden. You’re her music and her singing and her time as a Bella.  _ Nothing _ can compare to that. Chloe’s my best friend on this earth, and I want her to be happiest Chloe she can be for the rest of her life. I love Chicago, he’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but he can’t do that.” The blonde shrugs. “Only you can. And that why you have to go to this wedding.”

Beca’s mind is racing a hundred miles a minute. She’s waiting, waiting to wake up on her couch, covered in her own dirty tissues. She’s waiting for it to be a dream where Chloe doesn’t care that Beca’s not coming to the wedding and things will go on as scheduled.  A fucking  _ wedding _ .

“So Posen,” Beca says, her voice stronger than it had been all morning. She even tries for a crooked grin that probably looks painful given her current state. “Do we have a wedding to crash or what?”

Aubrey’s entire posture, which had been ramrod straight during the entire exchange, relaxes. “Oh thank the aca-gods you’re agreeing.”

“What did I say about saying ‘aca-gods’, I take it back–”

“You can’t, nope, no takesies backsies.” And Aubrey is moving towards Beca’s front door and wrenching it open.

“Hey, what are you–”

And then the Bellas are piling in, one by one, all of them groaning and grumbling about sitting on the floor for so long and how Aubrey really should have gotten to her point quicker. Beca’s jaw drops. Stacie and Fat Amy are moving in to grab Beca in a crushing hug, but they stop and grimace.

“What the hell is this?” Beca demands.

Aubrey smirks. “You said it yourself, Mitchell. We have a wedding crashing to plan.”

“Nuh uh,” comes Cynthia Rose’s raspy voice and Beca smiles involuntarily because  _ god _ , she missed these girls so much. “We can plan this  _ after _ Shawshank gets a shower. This place is  _ ripe _ .”

The others girls nod and mutter their various agreements. Beca thinks she hears Lilly say something about how her apartment bears resemblance to the trash heap she dumped her last target in, but she’s not going to comment on it because frankly, she’s too scared to.

“Yeah, Shortstack,” Amy says,  “I’d hug you, but you smell like a dingo’s backside. And, and the dingo is old, and fat, just like me, and just took a huge–”

“Okay!” Stacie interrupts. “Let’s clean the place up as the lady killer gets a shower, okay?”

No one moves. Stacie quirks an eyebrow. 

“Oh. Oh, you mean now?” Beca says.

“No,  _ after _ Chloe marries Chicago.”

“Too soon,” Amy mumbles (or tries to mumble. She’s not the best at whispering). 

“Yeah, Mitchell, the crashing isn’t gonna plan itself, geez!”

“Okay, okay!” And Beca finds herself genuinely smiling for the first time in months. She reaches the corner of her hallway when she looks back at the Bellas gathered in her dining room, all smiling and chatting. A surge of warmth sweeps through her chest down to her toes. She clears her throat. “Hey, Aubrey?”

The blonde looks up at Beca from her place at the dining table.

“Thank you, for this.”

Aubrey smiles probably the softest smile Beca’s ever seen. “Don’t thank me until you get the girl, Mitchell. And I’m pretty sure Chloe likes people who shower too. But I’m also pretty sure you know that already.” Aubrey winks, and the other Bells are roaring with laughter, and  _ of course _ the Shower Incident would come up within the first hour of all the Bellas being there. Strangely, it comforts Beca rather than the opposite.

She finds herself rolling her eyes. Yeah, she really missed these nerds.

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) Drop a kudos or a comment or both if you enjoyed!
> 
> 2.) I don't know if I'm just going to make this a very hopeful oneshot or continue it. I know it looks like there should be more, given the end, but I could just leave the rest open to interpretation. If you want more, refer back to statement #1!
> 
> 3.) Thanks for dropping by to read my trash!


End file.
